Carnal Urges, page 13
Then I wait for Declan to return.
He never does.
For the rest of that day, I’m left alone with only the occasional visit from Nancy checking my vitals to keep me company. I try to distract myself from thoughts of Declan by reading, napping, and watching TV, but nothing helps. He’s installed himself inside my head like a tumor.
The next morning, there’s another CT scan. The results are so good, the doctor says I can go home.
Home. Like I know where that is anymore. My apartment in Tahoe? In New York City with Natalie? At Declan’s impersonal bachelor pad?
He kidnapped me and cut me off from my life, leaving me drifting aimlessly in an inflatable raft with no paddles. I don’t feel like myself anymore. I have a curious sense that all it would take is one big wave to come crashing over me, and I’ll sink.
When I’m released from the hospital that evening, it’s Kieran who drives me. I ask where his boss is, but all I get is a shrug.
Something about that shrug unsettles me. The feeling grows stronger as we take a turn off the highway and start to drive in the opposite direction from where Declan lives in the city center.
Looking at the suburbs passing by, I say, “Where are we going?”
When he answers, his voice is grim. “Yer bein’ picked up by yer mate.”
I turn to him, heart pounding. “My mate? You mean Natalie? What’s happening?”
“Yer goin’ home, lass. That’s all I know.”
I stare at his tense profile, feeling like someone pulled a rug out from under me. “So Declan’s making you take out the trash, huh? You’re the lucky one who gets to clean up the mess he made?”
He glances at me and says gently, “Don’t be sore. I could tell he wasn’t happy about it.”
“Wasn’t happy? Well, god forbid the grand pooh-bah isn’t happy. Is that even a thing that ever happens, him being happy? I thought resting bitch face was the default mode for his entire personality!”
I realize my voice is too high. I also realize I’m shaking.
I’m so angry, I’m about to explode.
I’m being discarded. Without so much as a goodbye, Declan is discarding me.
Kieran wisely remains silent. For the next thirty minutes, I seethe next to him in the passenger seat as we drive farther on, out of the suburbs and into the country, until finally we pull to a stop off the side of a dirt road.
Kieran puts the SUV into Park but leaves the engine running. Without a word, he gets out and goes around to the back. He opens the rear door, removes several bags, slams the door shut, and walks down the dark road.
As soon as he’s out of range of the headlights, another pair of headlights turn on a few hundred feet away. I now see we’ve parked on one side of a wooden bridge that connects the dirt road. A stream runs beneath the bridge. A car waits on the other side.
My hand tightens around the door handle. My heart throbs like a jungle drum inside my chest.
Kieran returns. He settles himself into the driver’s seat. Without looking at me, he says, “Off you go.”
“What was in those bags?”
“Yer clothes.”
The clothes Declan bought me, he means. The clothes I asked him for, he bought me, and I barely got to wear before I went into the hospital.
I can’t imagine why he bothered.
My voice heated, I say, “I want you to tell him something for me. Tell him—”
“You can tell him yerself,” Kieran says quietly, nodding at my window.
When I look over, I see a figure materialize out of the shadows of the trees lining the road. The figure is tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a black suit. A lit cigarette burns orange against the night, glowing brighter when the figure lifts it to his lips for a drag.
It’s Declan. Without even being able to see his face, I know it’s him.
What is this feeling?
Don’t name it. Don’t you dare.
I open the door and hop out. Before I close it, I say, “It was nice knowing you, Kieran. Thank you for taking care of me. Tell Spider I said goodbye. I hope you both have a good life.”
He looks at me and smiles. He says something in Gaelic that I choose to believe is a farewell.
I close the door and walk toward Declan. When I’m a few feet away, I stop. Neither one of us speaks for a moment. Then I say, “I didn’t know you smoke.”
“I quit a while ago. I’ve recently taken it up again.” His voice is quiet. Steady. As unreadable as his eyes.
“So this is goodbye.”
He takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Aye.”
“Great. I can’t wait to never see you again.”
Smoke billows out his nostrils like a dragon. He gazes at me, silent, cool as a cat.
I hate cats.
“Okay. Good talk, as always, gangster. I guess I’ll see you around.”
When I turn to leave, he says, “Wait.”
He moves closer. Pulling a cell phone from his coat pocket, he says gruffly, “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“A cell phone.”
“You have no idea how much I’d like to put out that cigarette on your eyeball.”
“Your cell phone, lass. The one I gave you that has my number programmed in.”
I take it from him, suddenly unsure. “Why are you giving this to me?”
There’s an odd pause. He glances away. “You never know when you might need to hurl scathing insults at someone. Might as well be me. Considering you’re so good at it.”
I peer at him through the shadows. There’s something strange in his voice. Something that’s making my heart trip all over itself.
“Who’s waiting for me on the other side of that bridge, Declan?”
He smokes. Tilts his head back and blows perfect smoke rings into the air. His silence is infuriating.
“Answer me, dammit.”
As if on cue, the driver’s door of the other car opens. Someone gets out and lifts a hand over their eyes, shading it from the SUV’s headlights, and I’m introduced for the second time in five minutes to a skill I never knew I had: identifying people solely by their silhouette.
“Stavros?” I whisper in horror. I whirl on Declan and demand, “You called Stavros to pick me up? Isn’t he your enemy?”
Gazing at me with those unreadable eyes, he says, “The word has gained a new flexibility for me of late. And who better than the father of your child to rescue you from the nightmare you’ve been living?”
The father of your child.
Oh my god. He left the hospital without talking to the doctor about my other test results. He doesn’t know about the IgA.
He doesn’t know I’m not pregnant.
I can’t recall the last time I was this angry. Honestly, I think I never have been.
I step toward him, shaking all over. “You arrogant, idiotic man. You think you know what’s best for everyone, but you don’t even know what’s best for yourself.”
He’s frowning at me. Scowling, actually. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you being so sure of your own infallibility that you’re blind. But here’s something I’ll leave you with. I haven’t been with Stavros since the beginning of January. We’re almost in March now. What makes you think I haven’t been with anyone else in between?”
He falls so still, he’s not even breathing. His lips part. He stares at me, shock registering all over his face.
I say softly, “You might want to verify the identity of the baby daddy the next time you decide to play matchmaker, gangster. See you around.”
I turn and run away as fast as I can, telling myself as I get closer to where Stavros waits for me that the water in my eyes and the pain in my chest has everything to do with overwhelming relief and nothing at all to do with the man I’m leaving behind me.
21
SLOANE
On the drive to the private jet terminal at the airport, Stavros is silent, but he holds my hand.
I let him. I think it’s because once the anger drained away, I was left numb.
Numb is better than angry. Numb doesn’t demand answers. Numb is a welcome relief from too many intense emotions.
Numb is my new best friend.
As soon as we’re on his jet and the airstairs fold up behind us, Stavros turns and grabs me in a crushing bear hug. He whispers the pet name that used to drive me up a wall: mamochka. Then he sinks to his knees and buries his face between my thighs.
It’s not a sexual thing. He’s just hiding.
Looking down at his dark head, I say quietly, “What did you promise him?”
“Nothing.”
He doesn’t look up when he speaks. That’s how I know he’s lying.
I sink a hand into his hair and tug. Finally, he glances up at me, biting his lip. His hands tighten around the backs of my thighs. He looks about ten years old.
“Whatever it was, Kage will find out. And when he does, he’ll kill you.”
“I don’t care. I saved you. That’s all that matters to me. That you’re safe.”
My smile must look very sad, because Stavros’s brows draw together. I murmur, “Sweet boy. What makes you think I needed saving?”
He says angrily, “He took you. He took you.”
“I know what he did.”
The anger fades. Gazing up at me with pleading eyes, he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I thought if I … if you … that maybe we…”
I sigh, stroking his hair. “Oh, Stavi.”
That’s all I have to say before he goes back to hiding his face between my legs. “Come on,” I say, smoothing a hand over his hair. “Get up. We have to talk.”
His voice turns petulant. “I don’t want to talk. I know what you’re going to say.”
“Stavi—”
“No!”
I used to hate it when he’d get like this, stubborn as a child denied his favorite toy. I also hate the only thing that can budge him.
“If you’re good, I’ll let you do it.”
He goes still. His voice comes out small. “You will?”
“Yes. Get up.”
In one swift unbending of limbs, he’s standing, looking down at me with his heart in his eyes.
No, not his heart. The organ he’s looking at me with is farther south than that.
I point to the nearest chair. “Sit.”
He obeys without hesitation. I sit across from him in another one of the cream-colored leather captain’s chairs. The jet’s engines roar to life. “Buckle up.”
He fastens the safety belt over his lap, then sits there staring at me, fidgeting.
“Tell me what you promised him.”
“I can’t.”
“When Kage finds out, I’m the only one who might be able to help you.”
“He won’t find out.”
He gazes longingly at my shoes. I have to force myself not to heave a sigh.
“Stavi, look at me.”
It takes a moment for him to tear his gaze away from my feet.
I make my face and voice very stern. “Tell me.”
Frantic, he licks his lips. “I … I…” He pauses, then it comes out in a burst. “I told him I’d wear a wire anytime I’m with Kazimir and that he could tap my phone and my email to monitor our communications.”
I’m so horrified, I’m unable to speak for a full minute.
In the interim, Stavros starts to grovel.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have, but I was so worried about you, and he said he wouldn’t let you go unless we made a deal, so I had to, I had to!”
I hold up a hand to stop the torrent. Stavros falls silent, panting and white-knuckling the arms of his chair.
A wire. A deal. Those two details stick out in my head like neon flashing lights. They sound official. Like terms a prosecutor would use. Or the police.
Then something else occurs to me. With trepidation, I look at the front of Stavros’s white button-down dress shirt.
He shakes his head.
Relieved I’m not being recorded, I sit back in the chair and blow out a hard breath. I debate telling Stavros that Declan was going to let me go without his help, but decide against it. The less said about him, the better.
Besides, Stavros is already distracted again by my feet.
I slip off my shoe, stand, and hand it to him. Then I lock myself in the bathroom so I don’t have to listen to the sniffs and moans as Stavros jerks himself to release with his nose buried in my footwear.
I take my time using the toilet, washing my hands, and splashing water on my face. When I exit the bathroom ten minutes later, Stavros is flattened against one of the windows, staring wide-eyed and white-faced at something on the tarmac below.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s him,” he says, his voice strangled. “The Irishman!”
My heart jumps into my throat. I run to the nearest window and look out. Sure enough, there stands Declan on the tarmac near the front of the plane.
He’s got a rocket launcher slung over one shoulder.
Stavros screams, “He’s going to kill us!”
“No, he’s not. He just likes to make a grand entrance. Go tell the pilot to cut the engines.”
As a hyperventilating Stavros scrambles down the aisle toward the cockpit, the cell phone Declan gave me buzzes. I turn away from the window and pull it from the back pocket of my jeans. Though I might be having a heart attack, I make myself sound bored when I answer.
“Gino’s Pizza, may I take your order?”
Over the line comes the growl of an infuriated grizzly bear. “Aye, I’ll give you a bloody order. Get your arse off that plane before I blow your little boy toy to smithereens.”
“Nobody says smithereens anymore, gangster. In case you haven’t heard, it’s the twenty-first century.”
“You have five seconds. Four. Three.”
“I’m sorry, which personality am I speaking to now? Because it’s definitely not the one who told me goodbye half an hour ago.”
“Half an hour ago, I didn’t know you weren’t pregnant.”
I pause for a moment. “You called the doctor?”
“I called the doctor. I knew something was up when you said I was blind. And you don’t have nearly as good a poker face as you think.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You were upset that I was letting you go.”
“You’re high.”
“I must be if I’m coming after you again. Now get off that fucking plane before I lose my temper and do something I’ll regret.”
I stand there with my hands shaking, my knees quaking, and my heart beating outside my chest. I don’t know exactly if it’s anger, adrenaline, or a fucked-up kind of elation I’m feeling, but in any case, I’m definitely not in the mood to be bossed around.
So I say coldly and deliberately into the phone, “No.”
I hang up. Then I go to the window and flip him the bird.
I see the fury in his eyes all the way from where he’s standing. He’s got a red glow around his head.
I’m sure it matches mine.
I withdraw and start to pace angrily up and down the aisle, until Stavros emerges in a panic from the cockpit with a cell phone against his ear, blabbering frantically.
“No—she won’t—I can’t—she won’t listen to me! I don’t know how to open the door!”
Of course Declan would have Stavros’s cell phone number. Of course he would.
I say loudly, “He’s not going to shoot that thing. Hang up, and let’s get going.”
“I’m trying to save your life!”
Not this again.
I stride down the aisle to Stavros, snatch the phone from his hand, and put it to my ear. I snap, “Your deal with Stavi is off. He won’t be spying on anyone for you. And you’ll be keeping your word not to hurt him.”
Declan’s laugh is dark and perversely pleased. “I should’ve known you’d get him talking.”
“Yes, you should have. You continue to underestimate me.”
“A mistake I won’t repeat. Get off the plane. Now. Or my promise not to hurt your poor lapdog ‘Stavi’ expires.”
This time, he’s the one who hangs up.
I stand shaking in hot fury, debating with myself, and conclude there’s no way out of this. If I don’t do as he asks, I have no doubt he’ll hurt Stavros. Now that he knows Stavros isn’t the father of my nonexistent unborn baby, there’s no reason to keep him alive.
The son of a bitch has me checkmated.
I give Stavros back his phone and tell him to instruct the pilot to open the cabin door and lower the airstairs.
He’s horrified by the suggestion. “No! I can’t do that!”
“You can, and you will. I’m not asking.”
He gestures wildly toward the windows. “He’s an animal!”
“Yes, but a reasonable one. Do I look hurt to you?”
After a moment, he says reluctantly, “No.”
“That’s because I know how to handle him.”
He looks at me strangely. “I don’t think you do. I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Emotional.”
It unnerves me that he’s right. When I brush past him, headed toward the cockpit to talk to the pilot myself, he grabs my arm and pleads with me.
“You don’t understand! He asked me all these questions about you. About us. He wanted to know everything. I think he’s obsessed with you!”
“The only person he’s obsessed with is himself. Let me go.”
“Mamochka, please!”
I turn back to him, frame his face in my hands, and say, “Stop.”
He stands in front of me with his head hanging down and closes his eyes.
We’re silent for a moment, until I say, “I love what you did for me. You were very brave. Now I’m going to do the same for you. And you’re going to let me.”
He inhales and exhales deeply. Then, reluctantly, he nods.
“Good. Now, listen. When this is all over, I’ll help you find the girl you need, okay? We both know it’s not me. But your match is out there, and I’ll make sure she’s good enough for you. In the meantime, you won’t make any more deals with anyone to spy on Kazimir. And if anyone asks you to, you’ll tell me. Understood?”
